


Runes of Silence and Protection

by Deannie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Halloween, Other, Spooky Story Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did they tell ghost stories?” Darcy wanted to know. “You know, spooky stories about souls who walk the earth in search of brains to eat? Stuff like that?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runes of Silence and Protection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [finaljoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/finaljoy/gifts).



> The was written for the Beta Branch Spooky Story Swap 2014. 
> 
> Time note: takes place in the months after Dark World, when Thor's getting used to Earth.

Thor wasn’t certain about current Midgardian customs, but when Darcy suggested they attend something called “super spooky hide-and-seek” with a twinkle in her eyes as she grabbed Jane’s hand and called back to him, “C’mon let’s do it!” he was fairly certain she hadn’t intended a power outage. Nor a scream from another floor. Nor him tripping over someone’s legs in the hallway. At this point, Thor just hoped they were attached.

“My apologies,” he murmured. He bent to check the person’s health, but found only a pair of trousers and shoes, stuffed tight with some sort of batting. He left it where it lay and rose to rejoin Jane and Darcy, looking briefly behind him to watch two men with the most vivid shocks of bright blue hair, dressed in improbable red, skin-tight suits, as they stepped over the legs, laughing. It was all most strange.

The house into which they had ventured was lit only by candles and small battery-operated torches. This was unusual for the modern world, he knew, and yet no one remarked upon it. Sounds of mayhem lay ahead of them, as well as on the upper floor.

Jane Foster had assured him that today was “just for fun,” but he wondered vaguely if modern Earth dwellers did not partake of some of the selfsame dark fun their ancestors were so known for.

“Come _on_!” Darcy cried out. “We need to register our hunting team.”

“And the purpose of this team?” Thor asked. “What are we hunting?”

“Other teams,” Darcy replied, a thoroughly evil glint to her smile.

“Truly?” Thor exclaimed, stunned by her attitude. He had taken modern Midgardians to be softer. Certainly Darcy, at any rate.

Jane Foster looked back at Thor with an embarrassed smile. “She’s just playing it up—um, making it seem like more than it is. We’re supposed to try to find and eliminate the other teams.”

“Eliminate them?” Thor was certain he must be misunderstanding.

“Just like, ‘tag, you’re it.’” Jane shook her head. “Look, I know this is all pretty weird to you—”

“Indeed,” he agreed, though now he understood the goal of the game and wasn’t above having fun with them at his own expense. “Had I known we would take part in such endeavours this night, I would have come better armed.”

Darcy looked back at him and rolled her eyes. “It’s not a _real_ hunt,” she explained. She had a way of doing it so that Thor always felt he was a child again, schooled at his mother’s knee. “It’s Halloween.” He did not understand that reference and she clearly saw it. “It’s all just make believe.”

Jane stepped in, for which Thor was most grateful. “Halloween is a holiday. It was originally to celebrate the end of harvest and to keep evil spirits from the community in the coming winter.” A time-honored tradition among the people of Midgard. This, he understood. “Now it’s more about scaring people with haunted houses and kids dressing up and going door-to-door asking for candy.”

Thor considered that. Surely, if a child came to one’s door, hungry, one would feed the child something other than candy? Meat and bread, at least? And why should the child need to dress up for this?

“It’s also the day the dead are supposed to rise from their graves,” Darcy put in, a shiver to her voice, as if she were afraid.

“You believe this?” Thor asked. Certainly the peoples of Midgard had long believed that the dead walked near their graves, but he had thought these modern ones believed none of that. “And do you not bring them tribute? Libation?”

Jane shook her head with an indulgent smile. He truly did not understand these people sometimes. “Just go with it, okay?” she asked softly, her eyes round and cool in the darkened room. For her, he found he could do this easily. “When we’re done, I’ll explain it to you.”

Thor nodded and Darcy bounced upon her heels, like Sif as she stood waiting for the first blow of a battle. “Great!” she said, turning from them. “Now, what are we going to call ourselves?”

 

The game of hide-and-seek was a success, though Thor did not quite see why the prize—a large stuffed bat and a box full of bottles of ale—was truly worth the winning. Not that winning had been difficult. Hide-and-seek was exactly like Seeker and playing it with these humans was like playing with Volstagg, who was given to laughing in anticipation if ever the seeker drew near him.

The food they had at the end of the hunt was passable, though, and Thor was glad to have come. They did not feast often here in Midgard as they did at home. It was one of many things he missed.

“Let’s go out to the backyard,” Darcy said, clutching the bat and the bottles to her and grinning at Jane. “There’s a fire pit out there—you can explain things to him while we drink.”

Halloween was apparently many things, as Jane explained it. One of them, however, was at least familiar. For some, it was a feast to celebrate the souls of those who had passed beyond this life. Gifts were given to other-worldly creatures—or children dressed as such—to ensure protection against ruin. “So it is similar to Alfablót?” It was his turn to receive puzzled looks. “The Sacrifice to the Elves?” he tried again.

“Elves like Malekith elves, because I think they sacrifice enough people already.” Darcy spoke blithely, as was her way. The words cut too deep.

“Humans perceive the world as they will,” he told her, his voice suddenly rough. “Those you call angels were known as the light elves. It was to those they sacrificed, offering food and drink in hopes of keeping the dark elves at bay.”

Jane glared at Darcy for her lack of perception, but Thor could hardly fault her. Even after all she’d seen Darcy was an innocent—Jane, too, to his joy—and Thor prayed they could stay that way. Those who were tired and jaded, as he was, had need of that freshness of spirit. Perhaps that was why he chose to stay here in Midgard.

“Unlike this ‘Halloween’,” he continued, “the Sacrifice to the Elves was a very personal holy day, celebrated only among family, to honor the souls of those who have gone before and to ensure a fruitful season.” He looked around at the barren trees and cold night. “It is in the beginning of the year, however, not the end.”

“Did they tell ghost stories?” Darcy wanted to know. “You know, spooky stories about souls who walk the earth in search of brains to eat? Stuff like that?” She looked for all the world like a small child begging for a tale at her father’s fire.

Who was Thor to disappoint such a look?

“I do not know if they told stories such as those, but I do know _a_ story. Told me by a woman of great wisdom and surpassing beauty.” He gazed at Jane, smiling when she blushed for him.

Darcy bristled at his pause. “So tell us!”

Thor chuckled and began:

> _Once, at the top of Midgard—far beyond where most souls lived, was a village called Hjemmebane. The people there thrived, even in their land where the world lay in darkness and ice more of the year than anywhere else. The men were fierce warriors, and the women, beautiful._

“And the children were all above average,” Darcy put in with much cheek. Jane smacked her arm, though Thor did not mind the interruption. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

> _They turned no one away who had need of their help and their hospitality was well known. Each year, they lost their share of men to war, and still, as the darkness fell toward the land, and the warriors returned home with their spoils, a feast was had. One year, during the feast, a beautiful young woman stumbled, half-frozen, into the midst of their revel._
> 
> _The women rushed to care for her, and when she recovered herself, she told them her name was Alhildr._
> 
> _She told them of how she was the last of her clan and had gone in search of a place where she might be welcomed. But the storms of the late year had set her on a course to ruin, and only the strength of Hjemmebane's hearth fires led her away from certain death._
> 
> _The people of Hjemmebane, as I said, were ever hospitable, and Alhildr was invited to spend the darkness with them, sharing the bed of each family in turn, as was the custom._

“‘Share the _bed_ ,’ share the bed?” Darcy asked, pleasantly scandalized. “Is this a kinky sex story? Because I thought it was supposed to be a ghost story and if everybody’s having sex with the ghost, I need more beer.”

Thor smiled. He looked beyond the flames to see that they were attracting a small crowd. “She did indeed share pleasure in many beds.” He grinned and sipped his beer. “There are, after all, only so many ways to pass the cold of winter.”

“Okay, so the girl had a lot of sex.” This from a short man who had come to sit next to Darcy. He was dressed in a black suit with a broad belt and cape, both emblazoned with a yellow bat. “What happened next?”

> _The sun rose and the world was renewed. Alhildr bade goodbye to the townspeople and thanked them for their hospitality. She kissed those few men who had taken her fancy and she disappeared into the wilderness. The year turned and the men returned from battle. Some had been lost, but fewer than the year before, and the spoils were the richer for it. The village mourned their dead, even as they celebrated the bounty at their banquet._
> 
> _As their revelry continued, a knock came to the door, and there stood Alhildr, as beautiful as ever. The townspeople invited her in and made much of her, for they were very glad to see her. She mourned with them over the fallen men, for among them had been those she had favored._

“Uh oh,” said a tall girl who now sat across the fire from him. She looked as if she might be a priestess of some sort, dressed in black with a wimple and cowl. “That can’t be good.”

Thor took another beer from a faceless listener—at least the stocking over his head made him appear so—with a nod of thanks smiling at the collection of listeners. Humans were ever changing and never changed, he mused. They would always seek out stories by the safety of a warm fire. He continued his story.

> _Again Alhildr stayed the darkness in Hjemmebane and again she left them at the beginning of the year, kissing her favorites. The year turned, the men returned home only a few souls short. Again Alhildr appeared at their door and mourned with them. It was remarked how tragic it was that her favorites were among the dead._

“You think they’d get a clue,” said the short man in the cape. Thor looked to Jane for an explanation.

“They should have figured out that Alhildr was killing their men,” she translated.

Thor sighed, pretending disappointment that they had guessed the ruse. Fandral had always been the storyteller among them, and Thor had watched him carefully a time or two. He tilted his head as if to concede the point without actually conceding it, then faced the man squarely.

“You, sir, are more jaded than your ancestors. Their hospitality and generosity did not allow them to believe that the beautiful woman should be the source of their troubles.” He looked around at the gathering he’d amassed, catching eyes here and there. “All believed she was but a lovely traveler, returned to a town that had always given her succor. She was beloved by all in Hjemmebane. All but one…”

> _Among the women was one named Arnfasta, who had shared her bed and her husband Olaff, whom she loved above her own life, with the beautiful Alhildr._

“Let’s hear it for threesomes!” called a voice from the darkness. A spattering of laughter followed.

> _Olaff was perhaps too glad to see Alhildr, and Arnfasta became jealous. When it came time for them to share their bed, he did so too willingly. Alhildr and Olaff shared the bed beside her rather than with her, and Arnfasta grew to hate Alhildr._

“A woman scorned,” Darcy intoned, drinking deep of her bottle. “Never a good thing.”

“Indeed not,” Thor agreed.

> _Alhildr moved on to the next home, but Arnfasta remained bitter and angry through the whole of the darkness. As the sun was rising and the men prepared to leave, Alhildr said her goodbyes. She paused lovingly before Olaff and kissed him deeply. Arnfasta’s blood boiled._

“Cat fight!” someone yelled, greeted by raucous laughter.

> _Arnfasta followed Alhildr beyond the edge of the village and set upon her, killing her dead and entombing her in a barrow encircled with runes of silence and protection—made strong by Arnfasta’s own blood offering—so that her soul would not walk the earth to tell the tale of her dying. Alhildr was much favored by all in the village, and Arnfasta feared they would kill her in reprisal should they find out about her deed._

He gazed at the faces. All waiting...

> _The year turned and the men returned home. And not a man had they lost. Among them, his skull horribly split, was Olaff. Indeed, all those whom Alhildr had favored returned home, but all terribly wounded. Each was taken to his home and no feast was had that season—little bounty had been gained by men obliged to carry those not-yet-dead upon their backs. The women labored through the darkness to care for the warriors who were killed but would not die._

“Awesome,” he heard a voice whisper beyond the fire.

> _The people gathered, spent and worried, and someone asked, “Wherever is Alhildr? She has come to us these years, always to mourn and drink and spend the darkness with us. Our men have been safe or died glorious in battle and our bounty has been rich. Instead, this year she does not come and we are accursed. Our bounty dwindles and our warriors die but do not die.”_
> 
> _Arnfasta did not offer her own words, but kept her counsel. She returned to her home and took up the care of her husband again. Day after day, Olaff begged to die but found no rest in Valhalla. His pain was very great and no end to it could be seen. At length, Arnfasta could no longer stand to see his pain, nor to hear his weeping and begging, and she ran into the darkness, searching out the mound encircled with runes of silence and protection._
> 
> _”Alhildr! Hear me!” she cried. “What have you done to us? My husband, whom I love above my own life, is killed and does not die! He begs for Valhalla yet here he stays!” But Alhildr made no answer. She was bound by the runes of silence and protection._

The entire crowd of people hung on his every word. Gods, it was like the homefires of Asgard for a moment...

> _Desperate, Arnfasta unsheathed her knife, plunging it deep into her own breast to release life’s blood, that she might undo the runes she had so painstakingly set in place in the light of the new year. Her blood spilled forth, gushing over the snow and ice, soaking into it to touch and burn and erase the runes of silence and protection._
> 
> _Alhildr rose from her barrow, as beautiful as ever, and stepped forward to the edge of the circle of runes. “Why do you call me now, dread woman?” she asked. “You have killed me for the love of your husband. Leave me be.”_
> 
> _”For the love of my husband will I not!” Arnfasta cried, falling to her knees as her blood spilled ever out. “He is slain but does not die. He prays for Valhalla, he begs for death, and yet he is granted naught but pain.”_
> 
> _Alhildr wept bitter tears. “Poor Olaff—that he should come to this! I have repaid your village’s hospitality by ensuring that those that must die, do,” she said. “Locked in silence as I am, I cannot free them to Valhalla. Bounty that should be theirs shall never be—what spoils can be gathered when there is the burden of those who are dead but do not die? Cursed woman! Your jealousy has brought ruin to your people.”_
> 
> _Arnfasta beat her breast. “How then can I release you!? I have loosed the runes with my life blood. There is naught else that I can do and yet you stand encircled.”_
> 
> _“Your magic is stronger than your mind, dread fool! The runes demand a soul,” Alhildr told her. “For me to leave, to save your husband from a life that he cannot live, you must take my place.”_
> 
> _Arnfasta loved her husband more than life. The trade was easy. Her blood nearly gone, Arnfasta stood and stepped into the circle of runes. Immediately Alhildr leapt forth and Arnfasta was forever enveloped in silence and darkness. Nevermore would she leave the barrow where she sought to trap the woman she thought her husband loved._

Thor stared calculatedly into the fire, sipping on his beer. He waited. Fandral had told him once that the waiting was a listener’s undoing.

“So what happened?”

He grinned to see that it was Jane who asked the question. She was all breathless curiosity and lovely, shining face.

“Alhildr went to Olaff and kissed him dearly and his soul flew to Valhalla, where it dwells to this day.”

Silence fell again and Jane Foster smiled.

“Dude, that was an _awesome_ ghost story!” the tall priestess pronounced. “You should have come dressed as Thor—you'd totally look the part of, like, the Norse god.”

Thor startled at the idea of coming to a “costume party” dressed as himself and ignored Darcy’s snort of laughter. He looked down at the rather plain outfit he wore—trousers and a sleeveless shirt, both tight-fitting. His armor had, of course, been left at Jane Foster’s home with Mjolnir. He shared a grin with his two companions. Every bit the god indeed.

"What happened to Alhildr?" Someone wanted to know.

"She returned to Valhalla, from whence she came." He smiled at the questioning faces and sat back, satisfied. A fair storyteller, he. "Alhildr was one of the Valkyrie—she had been tasked with ensuring that the village of Hjemmebane thrive in recompense for its enduring hospitality."

"By killing the guys?" A young man, dressed fittingly as a Viking, asked. "How's that work?"

“Well they had to lose _some_ warriors, right?” another of the party-goers offered. “I mean, if you could ensure peace and prosperity with the sacrifice of just a few, wouldn’t you?”

Thor realized with a sudden shock that the boy was emulating his own armor. He saw among the crowd another man in a suit not unlike that which Tony Stark wore. What had been an amusement moments before was now vaguely disconcerting.

To his mind came a vision of Fandral, all-but run through in Jotunheim. Sif, nearly cut down to her death in the desert Earthlings called New Mexico. _Our warriors die, but do not die…_ And those that do. Mother. And Loki...

“Hey, you okay?”

Jane Foster’s hand sat lightly on his arm. Thor shook himself. No. He did not wish to sacrifice the few, save only perhaps himself. In that way, he truly was not made to be a king, but a warrior, to be cut down in battle one day himself, at the word of his father, or in defense of those among whom he now lived.

“It is a night for lost souls, Jane Foster,” he told her softly. “I fear mine is among them.”

“No it’s not,” she said quietly, squeezing his arm and looking deep into his eyes. “I found you.”

“Hey! Tell us another one!” called one reveler.

“Something gory!” cried another.

Thor broke the gaze the two of them shared and rose, bowing to all and feeling Jane rise with him. “Alas, I fear my time as a storyteller is at an end, dear friends.” He sighed. “I feel a need for home.”

Home was not to be found here in this realm. Asgard would ever be his home, but here, among new friends, perhaps he had found his own place where he might be welcomed, just as Alhildr had.

Jane followed him through the darkened house which felt suddenly garish to him.

“Come on,” she said quietly as Darcy ran to catch them up, flanking him on the other side. “Let’s go.”

“It really was a great story,” Darcy told him as they drove toward Jane’s flat.

Thor smiled gently. “I learnt it at my mother’s knee,” he murmured, the pain of her passing hitting him like the sharpest of knives. He did not see fit to mention that no memory of that tale could be complete without cold recollection of the sidelong glances and titterings he’d shared with Loki, when they were brothers still. When Loki lived... It would not do to dwell on thoughts such as these. Even on a night like this.

“I think Thor needs a real education in Halloween,” Darcy said brightly, as if knowing that the mood in Thor’s heart needed lightening. “I say we power watch the Evil Dead trilogy.”

Thor couldn’t help but smile at her child-like enthusiasm. “Have you not had your fill of evil, Darcy?” he teased.

“Real evil? Yes,” she said, almost seriously. “Fake plastic hands chasing their owners around and guys who strap chainsaws to their severed limbs evil? That I can handle.”

Jane tilted her head most alluringly. “They _are_ pretty good, actually. At least the first two.”

“They’re _all_ classics, and you can’t convince me otherwise,” Darcy exclaimed.

“I can’t convince you of anything,” Jane fired back.

Thor laughed as the banter continued. He simply could not remain morose in company such as this.

So for this night, he left his dark thoughts to be mired in their barrow, rung round with runes of silence and protection, while he himself embraced the light.

*****  
the end


End file.
